


Housework

by Duckgomery



Series: This Old House [7]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Carpenter!North, Finally we have some North, Gen, Jack shall forever be a little shit, stairs are sneaky bastards aren't they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckgomery/pseuds/Duckgomery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>North was always allocated the handyman jobs around the house, such is the misfortune of having the necessary skill-set required for such tasks.</p>
<p>AKA, North vs. that one section of steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Housework

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, been almost a month since last update. My bad, though in my defence, I was coveing my managers shifts while she went on leave, while also starting uni again for the year. Alas, I have the next part all planned out, so yay, shouldn't be to long until that is out.  
> Also been working on a few one-shots, one of which will hopefully be up in the next few days, depending on how fast my lovely editor edits it (love you, hun)  
> So without further ado, latest part, WOOT!!!

                Nicolas St. North stares down at his nemesis of sorts.

                The single section of steps that refuse to remain fixed.

                Every few weeks he has to do this, hunched over these wooden steps, nails held between his lips as he pulls out the damaged ones.

                How they get to be in this state in such a short amount of time is a mystery to all. It’s almost as if someone keeps jumping on them, in such a manner that the poor boards just gave up.

                They were not fun to stumble up or down in the middle of the night, or early in the morning. There had already been several instances were Bunny had nearly broken his neck, his big feet having gotten caught between the raised slabs.

                Enough was enough.

                And North was the only one with the skillset necessary to repair it.

                Getting the carpenter-by-trade to complete the task also saved them paying another professional to do the job.

                North gets down on his knees and begins his work.

                Maybe he should’ve waited until a less busy hour of the morning before attempting his reconstructive work.

                Tooth, as much of a hurry as usual, skittered down the staircase.

                In that state, it wasn’t a matter of if, merely when she was going to fall.

                Lucky for her, North could foresee such an event happening, catching her in waiting arms.

                “You really need to keep an eye out, Tooth,” North scolds, having placed the combination of shocked and flustered further down the staircase, on stable grounding. “If you run about, reckless like that, who will teach kids, yes?”

                “Sorry, North, I’ll try and be more careful next time.” She smiles, any previous fright being banished by the older man’s caring tone.

                With a look down at her watch, she lets out a shrill cry, and goes darting down and out of the house.

                Honestly, couldn’t women be on time?

                North hopes that Tooth manages to get to her class on time, without becoming too frazzled. Boy, did she know how to work herself up.

                With a chuckle he gets back to work.

                With the damaged timber having been pried out, North goes about measuring the new piece, making notes on which edges need to be cut down, how much does the edge need to be sanded down into a curve to conform to its sisters, and would it require a coat of stain.

                Being stuck in his thoughts, it was welcomed when Aster clopped down the stairs in the noisy manner that they had all become accustomed to. Just because they were used to it, didn’t mean it went on without complaints, especially from both Jack and surprisingly Pitch if they’d been out the night before. Some people just couldn’t handle their liquor.

                “They need work, again?” the younger man pauses momentarily before stepping over the gap, coming to stand beside North’s bent form.

                “Unfortunately, I do not get it though, why these? Why so soon?” It’s not like he doesn’t work hard to repair these steps, time and time again. The fault couldn’t be with his craftsmanship, never had issues or complaints with anything else before. There had to be something else playing part, but what?

                “No idea, mate, but it’s a thorn in all our sides when these things act up.” There is no love in the glare that Aster sends down at the gape in the staircase, his old nemesis.

                As with most things, this brings a smile to North’s face.

                “Well, no use weeping over milk that is dropped. Just have to keep going.”

                Aster rolls his eyes in mock exasperation, an expression usually reserved when dealing with Jack, minus the mock.

                “As much as I’m convinced that’s not how the saying goes, I need to hop on off to the shop. The plants don’t water or sell themselves, unfortunately.”

                North had always found it a wonder that someone of Aster’s build and temperament managed to run one of the more successful florists in the city, but then he wasn’t one to talk about misleading appearances, his heavily inked arms usually dissuading the mothers of the children who loved his handcrafted toys so much from letting them come in and look around his store. Luckily, they had come to appreciate the skill and detail woven into each and everything he took his tools to.

                Why wouldn’t these steps comply?!

                With the two early risers up and out, North went about his work, taking the new planks down to the garage, and cutting them down to size. After a moment of thought, he decided to go with sanding down the edge, creating a curve that would be difficult to stubs toes or get feet stuck on.

                Happy with his tinkering, he went back, slotting them into place to see how they’d fit after his alterations.

                Perfect.

                Though really, he didn’t expect any less.

                Wood glue in hand, he removed the to-be steps, drawing broad, strong lines with the bonding agent over the base, before pressing them, once more into place.

                As he waited for the glue to hold, he revelled how the house slipped so easily back into a state of slumber, without the hustle and bustle of feet and voices filling it.

                Such thoughts made North feel his years creeping up on him, and as such, they needed to be banished.

                Soft padding snapped the elder out of his turmoil.

                “Ah, Sandy, what brings you out at such an hour?”

                It wasn’t exactly early at this stage, but Sandy wasn’t known for being an early riser. That and the man had some serious issues with getting swept up in his work, sometimes even forgoing sleep in the pursuit of finishing one of his pieces.

                The small man just yawned, bringing his hand up to his mouth. In the process of completing this motion, he’d dropped the easel that had been precariously balanced in his petit arms.

                It rattled against the floor, thankfully not disturbing the setting steps.

                Sandy looked up sheepishly, meeting North, eye to eye, despite being several steps above the man.

                North held no grudge though. You just couldn’t, not with the little man with the golden bird-nest of hair.

                Bending over to add the collapsed wooden frame to the selection of tools of his own trade he had underarm, Sandy took little to no effort to evade the area of construction, appearing to have floated down the steps.

                As the sleepy, plump man teeters down the rest of the steps, he offers a wave before stepping out of the house. The bulging daypack strapped to his back was nearly has big as he was, and with that observation, North let out one of his famous deep, belly laughs.

                Grumbling and muttering coming from further down halts North from revelling in the humorous observation any longer.

                Pitch was up, and not in a good mood.

                The kettle was hissing?

                That could only mean that Pitch was running late.

                Even worse.

                Another thing that all in the house had become accustomed to with sharing quarters, was the fact that Pitch loved his coffee. You could tell what mood the man was in by the scent, which often reflected the quality.

                What North smelt was the instant kind.

                Pitch only made instant when he was supposed to be at his editor’s office half an hour ago.

                The grumbling turns into swears as the kettle rises in pitch.

                Ho.

                There is cluttering and slamming, and suddenly Pitch is taking long, elegant strides up to wear North is.

                One pale hand clutching an open thermos, steam wafting from the top, and the other extended towards him.

                “Thought you could use a drink,” was all Pitch offered, quite the short, clipped response for the author, but the dark shadows hanging beneath his eyes betraying how tired he really was.

                The sweet smell spiked North’s interest, reaching over to accept the steaming mug.

                Even in a rush, Pitch could still whip up a good drink, despite the fact that the way his nose was crinkled, it would seem like the slender man was sniffing rotten garbage.

                Some people just don’t appreciate the merits of a nice warm cup of hot chocolate.

                “Thanks, Pitch, just what these old bones needed.” He smiles at the other man, noticing how Pitch waved the thanks as if was nothing.

                With a simple nod in acknowledgement, Pitch glides down the stairs, talking under his breath once more.

                A slam and the humming of a car engine announce the gloomy man’s departure.

                With the house back to a stage of slumber, and the steps more than capable in looking after themselves for the moment being, North decides it’s best for him to move up, mug in hand, and head over to the kitchen to bask in the quiet of the morning, soon to turn into day.

                It was the stairs that creaked, not him. The place wasn’t exactly young after all.

                Blowing gently across the top, North savours the first sip.

                Rich and sweet.

                Perfect.

                He’ll have to find out the other man’s secrets in preparing it, having achieved such a flavour despite being in the rush he was.

                Another scent caught his attention, seeing a solitary cup of still steaming coffee placed on the table.

                Did he make a cup and then forget?

                How unlike him.

                But didn’t he have his coffee in his thermos?

                Another mystery to be added to the few that already hung in the house.

                Like those infernal stairs.

                Another sip brings the warmth down to his stomach, just what he needed.

                How North loves these solitary, quiet mornings to himself.

                Swearing and thuds come from upstairs.

                Maybe he wasn’t as solitary as he’d previously thought.

                The great thing about North’s position at the kitchen table is that he can see all that happens in the foyer.

                Such as the stair case.

                And Jack’s entrance.

                The boy comes gliding down the banister most of the way, perched as if it was nothing, though the shoes slung around his neck and satchel, with papers and books bursting out of it, grasped in his arms, tells of someone who may have slept in through their alarm.

                As Jack nears the base, he disembarks. The momentum from his jump causing him to land on the steps, the ever breaking steps, with a loud thud, followed by the slightest creak.

                Normally, a stick of a kid like Jack jumping on the steps wouldn’t cause any damage, but combined with the speed picked up by riding down on the banister.

                One mystery had been solved.

                Jack jumps over the remaining few steps, landing with a creak on the floorboards, making a beeline for the lonely cup by North’s side.

                As he tossed it back without a moment of hesitation, North mentally crossed off another mystery.

                With not even a sign of acknowledgement, Jack bursts out of the kitchen, wrenching the front door open before taking down the street, shoes still strung about his neck.

                North knocks back the rest of his now lukewarm drink, resigned to surveying the new damage done to the steps he’d spent the morning on.

                When Jack got back, he was going to have words with the boy.

                Heavily accented words.


End file.
